Kissing Russia
by Geenie ate me
Summary: Kissing Russia was probably not one of America's best drunken ideas.
1. Chapter 1

America's hips swayed unsteady as he drunkenly stumbled down the street. His blue eyes glazed and his expression overall dazed as he dragged his feet across the sidewalk. People eyed him curiously as he ambled on. America's mouth moved rapidly however he wasn't sure if the words from his throat were catching up. Anyone who cared to try to decipher America's blather would come to find out the usual cheerful American was unusually sad.

Sad why? He wasn't quite sure how to put it into words. Or at least a stream of consciousness in a drunken state of mind. After the world meeting today America found himself worn and sick. It was the same old shit time after time again. Everyone throws up their thoughts in an animated manner and interrupts each other. In the end Germany red in the face screams at everyone and everybody agrees to not disagree but to accept their opinions are more superior to others.

Although America typically snickers over such nonsense and well admittedly participates in it, today he couldn't find himself too. A new election meant more stress on top of everyone opening their fat mouths about America's problems. China the first to remind him of his debt to him, France second to point out how fat his people were, and usually someone like England third to anxiously add to the pile of criticisms how poor his education was.

So yes he did owe a lot of money to China. And perhaps his people have managed to pack on a few pounds…But his education wasn't poor! He wasn't an idiot! Nor were his people. America chewed his lip and stuffed his hands into his bomber jacket pockets. He was tired of everyone mocking him. Maybe his ideas were farfetched and a tad too fantastical. But that's because America was a dreamer. He always was. Something the older nations have long since ditched to better function in the adult world.

The American was beyond frustrated when the meeting finally came to a close. He left the room with his head down and eyes cast to the floor. As he stormed down the hallways with his hands balling into fists, the American realized he was more sad opposed to angry. The jokes didn't really get to him, it was the people involved. As America continued to mature as a nation, he began to conceive just how lonely the position was. His people unaware of his existence unless they were politically involved and only so few were in on it. And fellow nations too wrapped up in themselves to notice the rising depression.

America sighed. He found himself in a bar alone that night. His lips pursed as he stared over the splintering counter and into the barmaid's dead unfeeling eyes. Her scowl connected with her yellowing wrinkles waiting impatiently for the American's order. America not fond of wine even if Paris was well known for it, opted for a Rum and Coke. Simple enough right?

He then drank another.

And another.

And another.

He kept chugging those bad boys down until he couldn't feel anything. And that was what made America feel worse. He couldn't feel a thing. The man smacked a couple of bucks onto the counter forgetting where he was and lumbered out of the hole in the wall place. His eyes swimming as the barmaid yelled something in French. He paid no mind however.

So here he was, drunk as a skunk wandering the streets of Paris in hopes he makes it back to his hotel room. God must have been looking out for the younger nation for somehow he managed to do so. He even figured out the elevator.

America fished through his pockets for his room key. Finally he found it and swiped it through its slider. He jiggled the handle and realized it didn't work. "Musta swiped it too fast." He then swiped it again. And again. "Dis thing is broken!" America exclaimed. Suddenly the door swung open revealing a tall violet eyed man. "Russia? Bro, what'ya doing in my room?" The younger nation slurred. Russia gaped at the man for a moment horribly confused.

"What?"

"You're in my room bro!" America clarified.

"No Amerika I think you are confused. This is my room." The American's face contorted.

"Okay, you don't gotta be doing this to me man. I'm in no mood for your case of crazies." America hiccupped. Russia sighed.

"You've been drinking." The Russian plainly stated.

"Yeah and what are you gonna do about it?" America leaned into the Russian's face. The man stepped back for a moment. His shoulders then slumped realizing the idiot nation wasn't going to leave and slowly stepped out of his room.

"Do you remember where your room is?" He asked patiently. America lolled his head to the side. His glasses askew and lips puckered. This must have been America's thinking face.

"Yeah. You're in it." He spat. Russia pinched the bridge of his nose and snatched the card key out of his hands.

"Room 222, it's on the opposite end of this hallway."

"Oh man you mean this isn't my room?"

"No Amerika. This isn't your room."

America deflated. "I'm so stupid."

Russia was a little taken off guard by this confession. He had never known the loud mouth nation to ever downgrade himself. He watched as America leaned against the wall and slowly slid down. His fingers picked staples out of the carpet as he drunkenly bobbled his head at Russia. Russia wasn't sure if he should laugh or feel bad for how pathetic his old enemy looked. America had the appearance of a tired child who was fighting sleep. The taller nation found himself lifting America by the arm and throwing it over his shoulder.

"I will walk you back to your room. You are too drunk to make it on your own. In fact it is but a miracle you've made it this far."

"Thanks bro. I'm sorry." America felt no point in fighting Russia's help. Even the hero was too drunk and tired to care about politics. The two nations gradually walked down the hallway. America chatted on and on about some nonsense and Russia ignored it. They finally made it to the American's room. Russia swiped the key through the slider and opened the door.

"There." Russia was about to turn to leave until he noticed something clinging to his scarf. The man turned around to see two big blue eyes staring at him. "What is it Amerika?" He asked annoyed. America smiled something sinister and used Russia's shoulder to steady himself. Carefully the younger nation leaned in and gently pecked Russia on the lips. Russia looked back at him stunned. America offered no explanation and entered his room. As he shut the door he giggled at the shocked look on Russia's face. "Wait America-" The door was closed.

Russia stood there for a moment or so. Why? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Was America just so drunk that he didn't care about his actions? That had to be it. Russia walked back to his hotel room trying to forget his encounter with the drunk nation. However he could do anything but.

XXX

The next morning all of the nations were all packed and ready to go home. America on the contrary spent a majority of his morning puking his brains out. The man cursed aloud as he threw himself in the shower. God why did he have to drink so much knowing he had to get up so early? The man leaned against the cool tile for a moment as the shower head pelted his chest. He put his fingers through his wet hair as he tried to recollect what happened last night.

How did he even make it back?

America laughed cockily congratulating himself on being a pretty a functional drunk. "If it were England he would have gotten lost." He laughed. The nation then continued to wash his hair.

America leapt out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He grabbed his glasses and stared at his gauntly reflection. Although he was all clean the America still had the appearance of hung over. He hoped to God that last night he didn't wake anyone to save himself the embarrassment. Or if he did, he hoped they had already left and planned to keep it to themselves. America groaned and began to get dressed.

XXX

Russia and Japan didn't say a word to each other in the elevator. Russia was far too lost in his thoughts to subject the man to any of his scare tactics. And maybe that made Japan just the more suspicious. Why was the man being so quiet? Was he planning something? When they stopped on the second floor, the door opened revealing a rather breathless American. They both made room for the man who dragged his suitcase behind him.

"Thought I would take the stairs," He began between breaths. "Terrible idea."

Neither man said a word to the American. However Japan noticed how Russia's expression had changed. His eyes were glued on the American, like as if he was studying him. Japan felt a tad uncomfortable as he observed Russia's mannerisms. When they had hit the next floor Japan scurried out not wanting any part in whatever Russia was planning. America was too busy texting to pay any mind. When the door finally slid shut leaving the two nations alone Russia cleared his throat.

"Bless you," America said mindlessly has he continued to text.

Russia deflated a bit but still managed to keep his composure. The taller nation found himself gazing at the American, never once noticing before how flawless he was. His skin sun kissed, eyes baby blue, and lips…Those were the same lips that opened that door.

Wait? What was he thinking?! He could never even consider somebody like America ideal for somebody like him. China was the ideal one. Not America. America was rowdy, annoying, stupid, and…and…elusive? Was that the word?

Yes that was it. The American was unpredictable only going by whatever whim strikes his fancy. Like kissing Russia.

Kissing Russia.

The Russian found himself sliding over to where the American was. His eyes still glued on his phone unaware of the man's suddenly closer presence. Russia loomed over the American and grabbed his phone and tossed it. The American stared at him confused for a moment but seemed to understand.

"Now that I'm not drunk, do you want to continue?" He asked arrogantly. His eyes staring straight into Russia's begging him to take a taste. The Russian swooped in for a kiss connecting their lips so beautifully. Never had the taller nation tasted something warm and sweet like all of those apple pies the American's people talk about. His body leaned against his ex enemy's, pressing tightly their chests. The embrace was so wanting, so needing, so lovely as they continued to get tangled in each other.

But suddenly Russia heard a chime. The man flickered his eyes open to see the American getting out of the elevator, phone still in hand unaware the Russian was trailing behind him. Russia had never felt so confused in his life. Never had he experienced such a strange fantasy. Usually when the man did fantasize, it was about curb stomping his enemies or bashing in their skulls with his pipe. Never was it this.

Why is it all he wanted to do was kiss America?

_**AN: **__Felt like writing this. Should I continue it? This is my first time writing a story like this so yeah…_

_Precious Birds will probably be updated sometime this week. _

_Just wanted to try this. _


	2. Chapter 2

Finally the election was over and America could relax again. He leaned back in his chair, tired and worn out from all of the campaigning. He went back and forth between the two parties, carefully observing both candidates from afar. When the president was re-elected, America shook the eager man's hands and congratulated him about a thousand times. He then went to the losing party and offered his sympathy. Although the man had no idea he was talking to a personification of his own country.

America sighed as he dully watched the television before him, still going on and on about the recent election. He finally opted to change the channel to an episode of Spongebob. He laughed tirelessly to himself as he half watched the crazy antics of the underwater cartoon characters. Although he suddenly felt sad again as he watched Spongebob and his friend Patrick bask in their completely platonic friendship. Why couldn't Canada and England be as down to do some goofing off? The two were way too uptight for their own good. America watched for a few more minutes when he finally grew bored of the entire thing.

"Fuck it," he mumbled as he got out of his chair. "I'll call England." America walked over to his phone and pressed the speed dial for England. The phone rang a few times when somebody finally answered.

"Da?" A thick Russian accent greeted him. Oh shit he must have pressed speed dial for Russia! What to do? He had no desire to force a conversation with the much larger nation. America hung up the phone. Russia probably won't care right? America then manually dialed in the number for England and waited for him to pick up.

"Hello?" He heard a familiar British voice pick up.

"Hey dude." America greeted.

"Hey America." He almost groaned.

"I just called to see what you were up to." America quietly asked.

"Well actually nothing-BEEP!" The Brit was cut off by a beeping on America's phone.

"Hang on man I have a call on the other line." He pressed the flash button. "Hello?"

"Ah hey Amerika, did you just call me?" Russia curiously asked. America contorted his face out of confusion. Did Russia actually just call him back?

"Um yeah, sorry about that. Accidently pressed the speed dial for you and-"

"Are you playing games with me?" The Russian abruptly asked. America stared at the phone for a moment.

"Um, excuse me?"

"You are playing with me." Russia stated plainly. America wasn't sure on how to compute that.

"No! Russia I was trying to call England and-"

"I do not like being messed with Amerika." America shivered at the tone of Russia's voice. What was that guy's problem? All he did was hang up on him! Okay, well actually that was a little rude but it wasn't like he intentionally called Russia just to do that. Before America could say anything else to the disturbed nation, he heard another beep.

"Hang on I have a call on the other line!" Before Russia could protest America pressed the flash button again. "Hey sorry-"

"Why did you bother to call me if you were just going to put me on hold you twit?" England questioned flustered.

"It wasn't purposeful! Russia called me and-"

"Wait, Russian called you?"

"Well I called him first and-"

"Wait, you called Russia?" America was getting sick of everyone cutting him off.

"Yeah but not purposely! I pressed the speed dial button for you but it connected me to Russia!" He quickly explained.

"Well did you just explain to him you pressed the wrong number?"

"No…I kinda just hung up on him. And now he's accusing me of playing with him or something." America realized how dumb that actually sounded. He should have just told Russia it was an accident. England sighed.

"Put me back on hold and just try to explain it as nicely as you can. You shouldn't mess with Russia, the man has problems." England talked to America like he was a colony again.

"But I'm not messing with him I'm just-BEEP! Great it's him again. Hang on a moment."

"Right."

"Hello?" America meekly answered.

"Bonjour America!" A completely French not Russian voice greeted him.

"France?" America was baffled. "Why are you at Russia's house?"

"What? I'm not at Russia's house you fool! What gave you that preposterous idea?"

"Well Russia was on hold and now-"

"Wait, you were talking on the phone with Russia?" France interrupted.

"No, well, yes but I called him and-"

"Wait, you called Russia?" The Frenchmen interjected again. America sighed out of frustration and banged his head against the wall.

"Well yeah, but by accident and then he called me back and-" America paused for a moment. "Wait, why did you call me?"

"To congratulate you on the election of course!" The Frenchmen answered all too excitedly. America raised a brow.

"Um thanks."

"You're welcome."

"If you are looking for my boss to do something for your boss, have him call him." America was short. France had a problem with asking for favors in a sneaky way. It had gotten to the point where the country had to be outright with him.

"Oh," France frowned. "So may I ask what's going on with Russia?"

"No." America then hung up on the Frenchman and sighed. The phone rang again causing him to jump. "Hello?!"

"Did you forget I was on hold?" His former caretaker growled.

"Oh yeah sorry about that."

"Look America you need to be more responsible with the way you handle things. When I was your age-"

"Yeah yeah you were a pirate or something. Iggy, I got it under control don't worry about it."

"Well," England coughed obviously not appreciating America's rudeness. "So you settled everything with the brute then?"

"Not exactly. He kinda just hung up so I assume he got over it." England did a face palm but chose not to say anything else on the manner.

"So why did you call again?"

"Oh to see if you had any plans for today..You know so we could maybe, hang out?" Why did America feel like he was asking a date for the prom?

"Oh," England coughed. "I don't know about that America, I'm awfully busy and-"

"You just said you had nothing going on." The blond man deadpanned.

"Yes but, I'm going to work on my garden today." England quickly hashed out.

"Oh really? You're going to work on your garden?"

"Mmhm, got some nice flowers to plant."

"In November?" America wasn't as stupid as England thought him to be.

"Erm, yes. Nice time to do it."

"Come on Iggy! This isn't fair, don't blow me off!" America whined.

"I am not blowing you off!" The Brit quickly countered.

"Certainly feels like it." The younger nation huffed. England clucked his tongue actually feeling bad for coming up with a weak excuse like that. But who could blame him? America was just too immature sometimes and England felt too old around him.

"Look America, not today, but how about another day?"

The American quickly perked up. "Well actually if you want to do it another day, I have a specific date in mind."

"What for?"

"November 30th, two words for you Iggy-Time Warp!" America was giddy now. England laughed quietly.

"Oh no way America, we're too old for that."

"Dude! You're never too old for the Rocky Horror Picture Show!" The American insisted.

"God, we have not done that since the 70's. I don't even know where my costume is anymore." England lied. He knew perfectly well where it was. Hidden deep in the depths of his trunk to never be found, something like that would be great black mail.

"Don't you want to live every once in awhile?" The man pleaded. England sighed.

"I'll think about it."

"Cool, I'm going to see if I can find my costume. It has to be here somewhere."

"Right," England paused for a moment. "Well I better let you go America."

"Yeah those flowers aren't going to plant themselves." The American retorted. England rolled his eyes and hung up the phone.

Well, at least he was going to think about it. America was excited about the show, but for the time being he was bored now. What to do? Maybe Canada wasn't so busy. Then again, America didn't want to fight with the phone again. He ditched the idea and strolled down to his den. He had always envisioned having friends over, playing a game of pool, knocking back a few drinks. But that idea never did take. America flopped on his old beaten up leather sofa. He's had that sofa for God knows how long, but kept it out of sentimental value. It was comfortable anyway, even if the untrained eye could spot the yellow stuffing popping out of the cushion.

God, was owning a nice house supposed to be a reminder that he was always alone? He had several rooms, all decked out with new furniture and freshly painted. But what was the use of it if he had no one to share it with? America eyed the bar he had installed in the corner and sighed. He really hated resorting to drinking alone, but it looked like it was going to be one of those nights. The man walked up to his bar and poured himself a shot of vodka.

"Vodka," America laughed before taking the shot. "Russia's water." He then took the shot, and another, and another. Oddly enough, the person on his mind now was the Russian.

XXX

The Russian was frustrated. Does America find this funny? He didn't know, but he wanted to understand. The larger nation slammed the phone loudly. Why was he doing this? What did it mean? He eyed his pipe in the corner of his kitchen, gleaming beautifully as the little sunlight peaked its way through his blinds. He chewed his lower lip, should he just beat the stuffing out of him? The Russian needed a second opinion, so he picked up the almost broken phone and dialed an old friend's number.

"Um, hello?" The Lithuanian man stuttered after a few rings.

"Ah, Lithuania, how are you?" Russia's fake cheeriness seeped through the other line. It made Lithuania shudder.

"Hahahaha I'm doing great R-Russia! And yourself?" The man was scared shitless. Russia smirked to himself proud to know that he still had that kind of effect on people.

"Not so well friend, I called you for a matter of opinion." The Russian stated.

"Oh?" Lithuania was confused. What kind of advice could he possibly give?

"Yes, I am having problems with someone." Russia never tore his gaze away from his pipe and clenched his fist. Fucking America.

"Who?" Lithuania hesitantly asked.

"For the sake of this not getting out, let's keep them anonymous."

"Alright, well what's your problem with them?" The Lithuanian pressed. Russia huffed.

"It's a long story, but they kissed me off guard." Russia's face turned red and he almost felt his anger melting. Lithuania was silent for a moment.

"They what?" Who in their right mind would kiss Russia? He was so mentally unstable and scary! Lithuania felt sick at the thought.

"Yes, and now I am having problems with them."

"Are you with them?" Was Russia asking Lithuania for relationship advice? Are pigs flying?

"No," Russia spat. "I do not have any feelings for them."

"Oh," They were lucky then. "Then what's the problem?"

"They called me today, and hung up. When I called back they made an excuse and put me on hold." Lithuania didn't say anything and Russia continued. "I do not know why, but it fills me with rage. This person has not said a word about the whole thing since it happened. They act as though I am invisible, and it makes me want to go down there and beat them with my pipe until they can't move anymore. You see my dilemma da?"

"Yes, I do." Lithuania was shaking. "Do you think they have feelings for you?"

"I do not know."

"Well Russia, perhaps this person is afraid of rejection. Maybe they play it off as nothing happened because they do not want to get hurt." Lithuania could relate to that feeling. His sweet Belarus outright rejects him and treats him as nothing but dirt. He still loved her though.

"Do you think that is why they called?"

"Could be. Are they the type to not show vulnerabilities?"

"Come to think of it, no." America was rather arrogant and haughty. When the other nations made fun of him he would blow it off, laugh. He wasn't the type to just bawl like a baby.

"Well there you go!" Lithuania beamed.

"Another question before I let you go." Russia needed to understand something else.

"Yes?"

"Why can't I stop thinking about it?" Russia held his breath for a moment. "The kiss?"

"Erm well," Lithuania felt incredibly awkward. "Is there a chance you might have feelings for them and don't want to admit it?"

"Me having feelings for them would be absolutely ridiculous." Russia snapped.

"May I ask why?" Lithuania was curious even if he was terrified of the man.

"They're dumb, and loud mouthed and rude! They act so confident too, but I can see through it. They're really not that sure of themselves. I see the second guesses running through their brain like a hamster through a wheel. As impulsive as they are, they're just-just…scared."

"Do you think kissing you was an impulsive move that they're now scared of?" Lithuania was great at playing therapist. It was spending years with the madman that trained him well for that sort of thing though. Russia was silent for a moment or so before speaking up again.

"I guess so." Russia deflated. "What does that have to do with me possibly having feelings for them though?"

"Russia, this person charted on personal territory. You are used to having control, but now this person is controlling your feelings. What I am trying to say is that you have developed feelings for this individual because they opened a new door for you. They have done something most would never dare to do, and there is a high chance, they sincerely meant it. Don't let this person get away! Something like love doesn't happen often for us nations, and it's really special when it does. Confront them." Lithuania was getting swept up in his own personal romance problems. "And no matter what, keep pursuing it! Even if they resist, or call you names or whatever. Eventually they will have to see right?" Like Belarus, she would come to him eventually.

"I have never thought of it that way, thank you."

"Not a problem, tell me how it goes." Lithuania couldn't stop thinking of Belarus now. He felt so entranced by his own emotions he had not realized what he had done.

"I will good bye." Russia gently hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. Him and America together? That was laughable. Yet he felt butterflies at the thought, and smiled to himself. He got up and grabbed his pipe, time to confront a certain American.

XXX

Lithuania sighed to himself as he hung up the phone. Poland who was sitting on his couch stared at him critically.

"Like, what was that about?" Lithuania joined his friend back on his couch and chuckled to himself dreamily.

"Just Russia asking for advice." The man leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Maybe he would call Belarus later. Poland quirked a brow.

"About?"

"Oh just about romance." Lithuania answered nonchalantly. The Polish country fell over.

"Like no way!" He then clamored back on the couch. "Give me the nasty little details!"

Lithuania opened an eye and faced his friend. "He wouldn't tell me who. But somebody kissed him or something. I think I gave him pretty good advice."

"Aw man just a kiss? Nothing else? Well did he at least give you any clue on who it was?"

"Just somebody who is loud mouthed, rude, and dumb." Lithuania sat up and grabbed an apple out of a basket on the table. Poland cocked his head.

"Hm, that doesn't seem like Russia's type."

"Love is a funny thing." Lithuania took a bite of his apple.

"Yeah yeah whatever. I got better gossip anyway." Poland watched Lithuania eat his apple for a moment. "Well don't you like want to hear it?"

"I guess." Lithuania shrugged. Poland giddily leaned in.

"Okay so, at the last world meeting I was up late watching some terrible French show when I heard a ruckus. When I went to check it out, guess who I saw drunker than skunk?"

"Who?" Lithuania asked disinterested. Poland ignored him and went on.

"America! He was totally bothering Russia too! It was hilarious to watch him try and have a conversation with him!" Poland laughed for a moment as Lithuania just stood there. The man quickly spit out his apple. "Ew! What's your problem?"

"Oh dear God, what have I done?!" Lithuania quickly dropped the apple and ran back to his phone.

"What are you like doing?" Poland was confused.

"I need to call America and warn him!" Lithuania only hoped to God he would reach the man in time. Little did he know, or even begin to fathom, what he had done.

XXX

_**AN: **__That's all Folks! I wasn't going to update but after getting review number 10 today, I was like: Why not? I know I promised my other readers I was going to update my other story, it's just hard with all of the school work I have. Both this story and Precious Birds had half a chapter written out, this one just got updated first because it so happens to be on my desktop opposed to my netbook. I will update Precious Birds once break hits…My finals are rearing their ugly heads and I have to study like a madman._

_Anyhoo, anyone here a fan of Rocky Horror? I am! Even if it's, well, terrible. That's half the charm. Can you imagine England and America dressed up as one of the characters? If any of you don't know what Rocky Horror Picture Show is, go watch it immediately! It's awesome! The Shadowcast does live performances and the fans go dressed up and bring props to participate, its fun. _

_Oh, I also wanted to clarify a confusion a reader had with chapter one. The elevator scene was a fantasy Russia had, it never actually happened. I can see why you got confused though, I probably would have too. Sorry about that. _

_Look like America is in for it! R&R!_


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **_I typically don't begin a chapter with an author's note but I wish to disclaim something first. This story only reflects current opinions of this country today. And if you have a differing view, although I am up for debate, I rather you just save it for the sake of the story. I really hope there is nothing biased lurking within this piece, but if my writing comes off as biased, I want to apologize in advance. _

_Thank you_

There was a side of America only the Lithuanian knew about. How America managed to keep this side of him under wraps for decades, he was never sure of. However, there was a time where he lived under the young nation's roof, and learned one of America's best kept secrets.

He was a closet drinker.

Lithuania was never sure of when this problem first began, but during the time America joined the first war, and him Lithuania became friendly with one and another, he learned about it. Did England know? He was never sure. The Lithuanian was never one to discuss such things with other people over coffee and cake, and so it was never spoken about. Even him and America rarely talked about his one weakness. His one flaw that defined him from nation to man.

It had gotten so out of control that congress banned alcohol from all American's in the year 1920. Like his people, America still found a way around that rule and flew through the 20's in a blur. Him and his people basked in what felt like the peak of his young life, things were going great. He didn't see a reason to cease his habit.

It came to a point that America had two sides. Business and pleasure. During the day America was his usual cocky self, reassuring Wilson and Congress that he was straight. There was no question about him quenching any unnecessary thirsts of his, and that all he needed was a good read and a woman's arms. Despite the claim, Lithuania never saw one of two things reside in the American's house.

Nighttime America was different however. He was loud, perhaps a bit too friendly, and needy. The man would lay his head in Lithuania's lap and spill his fears like that of a child. His eyes glassy and nose so red never had the nation look so fragile. The side of America nobody saw, except for Lithuania. Who merely cradled the man's head in his lap and dispelled his fears like a mother to a babe. America would smile meekly and nod off to sleep.

Although some would find this troublesome, Lithuania really didn't mind. For once in his life, he wasn't the weak one. And if he really wanted to, he could have ruined America. Exposed his best kept secret to his enemies, but Lithuania had no need for such deviance and only prayed that America's drinking would cease.

It wasn't until long after America gave Lithuania back to Russia that America had quit. America at the time was going through a Great Depression, and Lithuania suspected that America was finally combating this illness. Which ultimately flung his country in a time of massive loss of jobs and starvation for all. Lithuania always wondered if America didn't want the other country to see him go through his terrible withdrawals, or other countries alike when he withdrew himself from the world and declared isolation. Lithuania always wanted to know what caused America to take this drastic change.

Lithuania and America never had this conversation though. Although at world meeting in 1950, America proudly showed him his AA meeting card and declared in a whisper how it has been almost two decades.

And from that point on America was sober. The man thrived in the 1950's and even grew more during the more mind blowing 1960's. America changed for the better, even if the war with Vietnam had dragged him down and he made other dumb mistakes here and there. He was never how he was in the 1920's, living carelessly in a mist of intoxication to better hide his real insecurities. What happened? Had he fallen off the wagon?

Lithuania dialed the American's number and listened to it go to voicemail. He hung up and dialed again. Still no answer. After the fifth time around, Lithuania finally decided to leave a message not giving away too much in case Russia was to hear it.

"Hey America, it's uh me, Lithuania! Call me back; we need to have a serious discussion." He sighed out of defeat and hung up the phone. Where was America? And better yet, what's going to happen if Russia finds out about this?

He needed to put a stop to what he had helped jump start. And quickly.

XXX

America ignored the incessant ringing and lay sprawled on the couch only in his boxers. He watched on the television another episode of Spongebob and lazily ate strawberry ice cream out of its container. Hard to believe he was so excited for TV to come out. Now he can't even find anything on. Alone and drunk watching children's cartoons while eating ice cream, Jesus this was a new low. Slowly but surely, America eased off of his couch and sloppily placed the container of ice cream on its side on an end table. The nation then wobbled back into his den, still ignoring the phone.

"Voicemail should get it." He slurred.

America staggered into his den with a glazed look. Where were his glasses again? He looked at the pool table faintly recalling he had placed them there to not break them. Sure enough his memory served him well and he found them on the edge. He slipped them on and walked to a book shelf that was on the left side of the wall. Admittedly enough, America was never much of a book worm. But on nights like these, he would find himself plucking one book out in particular. One he actually remembered inspiring a certain author to write.

This book was old and worn, the spine barely holding its yellowing pages together. America pulled the book out and smiled at the first blank page, there in cursive was a note to the American.

_To Alfred, from yours truly, Scott._

"Scotty," America mused as he flipped it to the first page. The Great Gatsby was now considered a classic, but America remembered all too well when it was brand new and off the shelf. Fitzgerald handed the young nation his manuscript before he even sent it to publishers. "I wouldn't be drinking alone if you hadn't died on me you prick," Although the statement in itself was outright ridiculous. Scott Fitzgerald would have died either way, and even if the man lived to be old, it wasn't like America could still hang around him anyway. He would question the nation's inability to age and probably wouldn't accept the truth.

No, Scott's death was inevitable with all of the drinking. America couldn't help but blame himself when he had heard of the news he had passed away from a heart attack in 1940. But he tried to get Scott to sober up with him, it just wasn't happening. Scott Fitzgerald was probably the last human friend America had that didn't know about him. After his death America had told himself that losing a friend like that was just too painful, and really kept his distance from people outside of the White House.

Sure, he grew attached to some presidents here and there. JFK was cool if not a bit unethical. He introduced America to Marilyn Monroe, who kissed him on the cheek after a rather friendly hello. Nothing prepared either of them for the assignation of their beloved president. America grew sick at the thought on the possibility of his own government being involved in it.

America turned to another page of the book; his eyes squinted at the complete blurriness of all of the words. He went back to the first page and traced his fingers over the black ink of Scott Fitzgerald's note. Before the nation knew it, he was crying. Or at least sprinkling tears here and there.

"Amerika?" He heard a familiar Russian voice call from behind. America quickly spun around.

"Russia?" He said with the alcohol heavy in his voice. "Why's there two of you?" Russia shot him a look of confusion which sent America in a laughing fit. "Never mind man, help me up." Russia complied and yanked the younger nation off of the floor. He watched as America placed his book on top of the pool table. "Thank'ya kind sir." He patted Russia on the head and walked out of the room. Russia followed even more so confused then before.

"Look Amerika, I came here to talk to you about your behavior." Russia exerted. The American wobbled back into his living room and threw himself on the couch.

"Hm?" The Russian heard the younger nation say through a couch cushion. America lifted his head and gawked at the two Russia's. "I see you brought your pipe, are you here to beat me up?"

"If only you grow hostile."

"Ah, so it's a security blanket." America tittered. Russia cocked his head. America sat back up and scooted over some. "Here, sit." He demanded as he patted the cushion. Russia once again complied and sat rather close to the young nation. "So tell me," He leaned in to Russia's face. "What's wrong with my behavior Russia one and Russia two?"

Russia backed up some feeling hotness in his face. What was wrong with him? Why was he cowering? Russia never cowers! "Well it leaves me confused." Russia said silently. America actually looked like he was intently listening. The man's blue eyes were un-nerving. America leaned back in his couch and smiled.

"Sorry," he whispered. America reached his hand out and touched Russia's shoulder. Russia's eyes grew wide as the American looked at him dazed. He then slowly sat up using Russia's shoulder to steady himself. "I need a smoke." America soon wobbled into his kitchen leaving Russia alone. Russia put his head in his hands.

Russia grunted feeling the anxiety rise in his chest. America was drunk again; he wasn't going to get any form of an answer out of him now. He wanted to smash Lithuania's head against a brick wall for giving him such bad advice. They were match made in hell and Russia just knew it was not worth his time. He should just forget about the kiss, and hope America doesn't remember him ever being here.

"Hey Russia, you coming bro?" Russia heard from the kitchen. Russia sighed and dragged his feet into America's kitchen. The man stood in front of his back door with a cigarette sticking out his mouth. His freezer door was still open revealing the pack of cancer sticks jammed in-between two bags of frozen vegetables. Russia shut the freezer door and wandered behind America to his backyard. The man sat down on a porch swing and waited for Russia to join him. "Damn it's cold," America whined as he shivered in his red white and blue boxers. He then patted them looking for something. "Aw man, left my lighter." Russia pulled out a lighter he carried just in case and lit America's cigarette. The American shot him a goofy smile. "Thanks Ivan."

"Ivan?" Russia spat.

"Yeah, what am I supposed to call you?" America asked stupidly.

"Russia."

"All formalities aside," America took a drag of his cigarette. "Can't we just be personal with each other for once?" Russia shook his head.

"Nyet, you've been too personal already." He snapped. America exhaled the smoke into the fall night air. He then clumsily ashed his cigarette onto the patio.

"Too personal?" America drunkenly spouted off. Russia sighed.

"You do not remember." He somberly stated.

"Remember what? Enlighten me."

"You kissed me at the last world meeting." Russia felt the anxiety return, he should have just beat America up opposed to trying to talk it out. Russia had to have known by now that talking it out never works. America scraped his cigarette against the concrete and flicked it into his lawn.

"Did you like it?" The American coolly asked. Russia turned to stare at him. What was wrong with this man? Some minutes passed and America realized Russia wasn't going to answer him. "Ivan, Russia, whatever it is you want to be called. I will not lie to you; I am very drunk right now. Even so, let me just explain something to you." America licked his lips still tasting the vodka. He shook his head as if to shake the drunken feeling and continued. "I have kept my distance for some time now, and have managed to build this world of superficialities around me. I had to though. I couldn't succumb to it again." America held his head in his hand and leaned lazily against the porch swing. His eyes were swimming, and he wasn't sure if what he was saying was making sense anymore. He turned to face Russia who appeared to be listening.

"Succumb to what?" The man finally asked. America nodded.

"To the loneliness. This job of ours sucks." America hiccupped. "I mean don't get me wrong, I love my people, I love what I stand for…But I can't take it anymore." America lifted his head up and stared right through Russia. "My people are lied too through the government's teeth, and I just sit there with a shit eating grin, taking the pains of war because of our pride. Meanwhile I'm slowly becoming China's bitch, and losing control of a situation that may have never been in my hands in the first place. I drink to not think about it. Like how I used to drink to not think about how my country just suddenly expanded over night." America laughed cynically. "Meanwhile, nobody cares. Nobody fucking cares Ivan. Why can't we just love?"

Russia blinked a few times. "Excuse me?"

"I've been fighting it for years, ashamed of it because of my own people." America mumbled and stood up again. "Let's go back inside, it's cold."

"Right," The two nations walked back inside the house and into the kitchen. America wandered into the den and to his bar.

"I was thinking, before you came, we should make a new vodka that's made with coke. I mean why not? They make marshmallow flavor and shit." He then poured himself another shot and shuddered. Russia just stood there and observed him. "Have a seat get comfortable," America pointed to his couch. Russia hesitantly sat down. "Want some?" He then asked.

"It's probably no good."

"Oh what the vodka? Don't be such a booze snob man." America poured Russia a shot and handed it to him. Russia gingerly grabbed the shot glass and sniffed the contents inside. Should he drink with the American who is already on the verge of passing out? Should he risk it? Russia sighed, and opted to drink. It wasn't like he was going to allow himself to get drunk anyway.

Russia put away the shot with ease, and to his surprise, it flowed smoothly down his throat. He eyed the glass for a moment and returned focus back on America. "Not bad, where did you get this?" America smirked deviously.

"Just from an old friend of mine," He chortled. Russia ran the possibilities as to whom America was referring to but couldn't put his finger on it. He never figured England or that other guy to be good at making vodka. What was that guy's name again? Russia chose not to care and handed America his shot glass. "Want another?" America asked as he poured Russia the shot. Well, he better not waste it.

"Da." Russia drank it. America grinned and poured himself another shot. "How much have you had comrade?"

"I lost count," America shuddered as the alcohol slid down his throat. "All I know is that the night is still young." The blond bobbled his head over the bar counter and hiccupped. Words, thoughts, and ideas swirled around his head in a haze.

"Are you alright?" The taller nation was a little concerned. America was drinking a lot, and he wondered if the younger nation could handle it. America snapped his head up and laughed.

"Hey let's play mon-no-po-na…You know the game with the dude with the top hat and you go to jail?"

"Monopoly?"

"Yeah! That one! We should play that." America rushed out of the room in excitement. Russia sighed and poured himself another shot.

"Kay found it!" He clamored back in with an old Monopoly box that had mask tape holding it together. The American quickly plopped himself onto the floor and began to set up the game.

"Amerika?"

"Yes Ivan?" America dopily asked as he fiddled with the game pieces.

"I think you are far too drunk to play this game."

"Oh? And what makes you think that?"

"The game board is upside down." Russia stated in a matter of fact tone. America stared at the upside down game board for a moment trying to configure what Russia just told him. He then shrugged and kept setting up the pieces.

"Here, let me assist you." Russia kneeled down and fixed the game board. He felt like a kindergarten teacher helping a disabled student. America already lost interest in the game and stood back up and slinked his way to the bar. "Hey, no more." Russia barked. America whined.

"But Ivan-"

"Do not call me Ivan. I am Russia, you are Amerika. Nothing more nothing less." The Russian said coldly. America pouted and leaned back in his bar stool.

"If that's the case, why are you here?" He asked almost too confidently. Russia blushed not really knowing the answer to that question. He turned his gaze back to the American who smiled warmly at him. He gradually poured Russia another shot. "Here," He said calmly as he handed the Russian the shot. "You need to loosen up."

It was perhaps America's second worse idea to get Russia drunk. Little did the younger nation know, he was going to hate himself in the morning for this.

**AN: **_Sorry to end it so suddenly…I have to get back to studying but wanted to finish this? So what do you think? Good? Bad? HORRIBLE?_

_Also, I am quite the history nerd, so when I had the revelation to incorporate prohibition with America possibly having problems with alcoholism, I was a little giddy. _

_Anybody here read Scott Fitzgerald? I only read the Great Gatsby, I want to see the new movie coming out._

_Sooo, what do you think is going to happen next chapter?_


	4. Chapter 4

_**This idea popped up in my head when I was trying to lull myself to sleep with a terrible hang over. **_

XXX

The walls were blurring again.

America blinked a few times and gathered his surroundings. He was in his den and unusually warm. His mind, still a tad drunk tried its best to recollect what happened when. However this was the equivalent to attempting to piece together a puzzle without any picture to reference. He remembered drinking the vodka, eating ice cream, Spongebob, and The Great Gatsby. Beyond that were brief images that didn't quite connect with one and another

Before America could delve any deeper into his subconscious, his stomach gurgled loudly snapping the young nation out of thought. Why did he have to eat ice cream? The man groaned and slowly nestled out the warmness he didn't bother to question and crawled to the bathroom. His legs wobbled weakly as he flicked on the light.

He cringed at the sudden brightness and flipped open the toilet seat. Gradually he kneeled down hovering over the rim of the bowl. His stomach gurgled again as the room started to spin slowly. He jammed his finger down his throat and expelled the poisons along with strawberry ice cream.

"Oh goddamn," He moaned. He threw up a few more times before he felt satisfied. He stared at his pink puke for a moment or so before flushing it. "Why did I drink?" He whined aloud as he stood in front of the mirror. He wiped the vomit off of his quivering lip and reached for his tooth brush.

After America thoroughly rinsed out his mouth he found himself stumbling into his living room. He noted the sticky mess of strawberry ice cream melted on the end table and decided to clean it later. He went into the kitchen to see there were at least five messages on his voicemail.

"Check it later," He muttered. The green numbers flashed 5:00 on his microwave and he shook his head. When did he start drinking? It had to been late afternoon early evening right?

America sighed. He was better than this, he couldn't let himself relapse. He ignored the anxious thoughts bubbling in his head and went into his bedroom. There on his bed he found his cell phone charging. America used to have his Black Berry attached to his hip, but as of late he ignored it like an unloved step child. The only calls he received were the ones from his boss, and a few one worded texts from England. America grabbed his phone and unlocked it. His eyes squinted to see he had one new message. Probably England giving him a lame excuse to bail out on Rocky Horror.

_From: Ireland 9:00 PM _

_Did you get that vodka I sent you? I know I normally make beer but I wanted to know what you thought._

America, shocked, re-read the message three times. Ireland really texted him? That asshole really has the nerve?

Then again, America did drink the vodka. Although he remembered hating it's taste. But Ireland wasn't one of consideration. No, Ireland was a different walk in the park entirely. America leaned his head against his headboard and grimaced at the memory that was suddenly beginning to surface.

…

It was when Irish immigrants were flooding his country the plucky loudmouth nation showed up at his doorstep. He carried two beaten up suit cases under his arms and wore a flat cap on his unruly red hair. He smiled coyly at the confused American and barged in.

"Hope you don't mind me moving in. We're having some trouble at home." And just like that, in the late 1800's, Ireland boarded with the American. His reasoning was that he wanted to be sure he was leaving his people in good hands, and wanted space from England and Scotland who crowded him at times. The man was loud, rancorous, and arrogant. England blamed Ireland for corrupting America, but Ireland just told him to fuck off and mind his business.

America loved and hated this man. Ireland was admittedly fun to be around. Although he was drunk for a majority of it. But most wouldn't be able to tell, Ireland never did act like a fool when under the influence. Unless he was mad or you brought up England. Other than that though, America found himself able to tolerate the brash nation.

Things went decently as the two found they didn't hate each other as much they had thought. Ireland enjoyed telling America stories that typically had some twisted moral in the end and America showed Ireland the ways of the city. The other countries laughed at America for having to deal with what they referred to as: "an emotional mess" but really America didn't mind. He did live with England for a majority of his life and saw Ireland as an angrier if not raunchier version of him.

England didn't like it one bit though. He sent America a letter informing the young nation just how dangerous Ireland was. He acted like the angel on America's shoulder who continually goaded him to send Ireland back. America fired a letter in return telling England that he wasn't his boss and that he was fine. Sure, Ireland did introduce him to a lot of things he was never too keen on prior to their crack friendship.

Two of those things that had caused America a lot of problems later on were drinking and his sexual preference. Truthfully, America previous to allowing Ireland to board with him never analyzed his inability to maintain a real romantic relationship. America at this point was no virgin but was indifferent towards the act altogether. The American had written it off as just not finding the right person yet. Although on an occasion, the possibility of him being gay would creep up in his mind. He would push the thought out as soon as it surfaced however. Maybe Ireland was a mind reader, for a time he made a lot of implications towards the subject. This would get under America's skin as he found the Irishmen to not be one for subtly.

This became crystal clear as Ireland made comments that were half joking and half serious. They were forced, completely random, and not tactful in the least. Initially America assumed it was just a foreign sense of humor he didn't quite grasp, but as Ireland continued to do it, he realized the man was legitimately putting his sexual orientation into question. America learned to just brush off the subject, or even jokingly attack Ireland for things he lacked in. But that didn't stop the republic from uncovering the truth he so rudely stuck his nose in.

The drinking fueled this uncrossed territory as Ireland dubbed America his new drinking buddy. The nation mixed drinks America had never even heard of, and got the young nation so drunk that America managed to puke in every corner of his house. Each morning America swore he would never drink again, however each night he found himself consuming whatever mixture Ireland invented. The Irishmen would grin devilishly as he watched the American stagger and curse.

There was a rare few times though when America had to help Ireland into bed. Ireland would claw at him drunkenly and yell many obscenities that would soon be followed by several sloppy apologies. He would then call America: "Me favorite" and pat the young nation on the head.

Ireland would be smoking his pipe as they sat around drinking. He would play cards with America and win every game. One time though, Ireland was silent after he won which was unusual. America stared at him confused.

"Do'ya think you're a homosexual?" He blurted out. America's face turned red.

"W-what?"

"I never see'ya with any women. And you're all too willing to suck England's teat." He took a drag off his pipe. His green eyes never once taking his eyes off of America. America scowled.

"Fuck you, I'm not gay!" The blond retorted. Ireland laughed.

"Look, don't be offended. I just call it as I see it."

"Well obviously you need glasses." America stormed out of the room. Ireland trailed behind the flustered nation.

"Come on, Alfie don't be like that!" Ireland cooed. America jumped into his bed and threw his covers over his head. He was too buzzed to deal with the Irishmen right now.

"Do not call me that." He sneered beneath his blanket. Ireland was a terrible listener though and crawled into America's bed.

"All formalities aside, can't we just be real with each other for once? America, look at me." The man tugged at the cover to reveal a pissed off American. Even though Ireland was fairly intoxicated, he realized he had struck a chord with the man. He took off America's glasses and smoothed over his hair. His smile was mischievous yet aloof. Always drawing pretty young women in with it. America glared at him despite the cool feeling washing over him. Ireland leaned in slowly, and pecked the young nation on the lips. America was baffled.

"Why?" America questioned.

"Because," He began licking his lips. "That's what faggots do." And before America could respond, Ireland slid off his bed and lumbered off into his room.

And that's when America's secret obsession began.

He hoarded these strange feelings for Ireland, who may or not have remembered kissing America.

Kissing America. It sounded so odd in his head. Ireland always caught him staring, and would smile like the cocky bastard he could be. On rare occasions, Ireland catered to America's affections. He would abruptly pin the naïve nation against the wall and shove his tongue into his mouth. His freckles sprinkled across milk bottle skin and stared dauntingly at the younger nation. Depending on the night he tasted like whiskey and tobacco, a taste the young America learned to love.

America shivered with each touch as they found themselves melding together. Dancing drunkenly into the night to the sound of Ireland's out of tune guitar. Passive aggressively flirting with dangerous gazes daring the other to make a move. It was the first time in a long time, America genuinely felt wanted. Irish immigrants came to him, because they needed him, because he was the land of opportunity. Of dreams coming true.

But Ireland wasn't an opportunist like the others right? He understood America in a way most wouldn't be able to. And maybe his people didn't care for the Irish so much, but time could only tell. Bosstweed was alright with them, why couldn't other politicians learn to be?

To call that a relationship would be a lie though. America knew damn well his people hated gays and he outwardly acted the same. He denounced all gay men and put on a homophobic front. The Irish being a split between Protestant and Catholic obviously shared the same feelings. Ireland however approached their taboo differently. During the day, their secret sinning didn't exist. It was like Ireland wiped his memory clean and acted as though there were no feelings whatsoever. Even if he woke up in America's bed, cradling the country, he never mentioned what they shared. America would always barter for the man's affections however. Although he was never sure if Ireland was toying with him or not. He didn't care. It was a new experience he couldn't help but feel giddy over. America much like a teenager was really infatuated with the republic.

Until one day, he was gone. Just like that Ireland had up and left while America was out at work with his boss. The young nation came home to find a sloppy note left on his pillow.

_America,_

_We had good times. Take care of the people who left me, they're now a part of you._

_Ireland_

America hadn't felt so heartbroken since the revolutionary war. He crumpled up the note and told his boss he was headed on the next boat to Ireland. His boss didn't question his suddenly irate country and gave him the go ahead. The trip was long and treacherous as the month of March swirled dangerously with bipolar weather.

America remembered all too well how embarrassed he felt when Scotland answered the door. Apparently he was house-sitting for Ireland and hadn't left yet. His hair was a more orange opposed to Ireland's dark red. He was clean cut except for a stubbly beard that was beginning to grow. He held a tough demeanor that told America he was not one to fuck with. He grunted hello and stepped aside to allow him entry.

America waited impatiently in Ireland's living room for the man to come downstairs. Fifteen minutes of forced conversation with Scotland was all too unbearable. He perked up though to see the tall slender nation walk quietly down his spiral stair case. He had his hands in his pockest and pipe in mouth. He gave America a vacant gaze before smirking.

"Lad," He coughed. "What'ya doing here?" Scotland shot Ireland a disappointed look and spoke up.

"He's here to see you brother." Scotland answered sternly. Ireland frowned and motioned America to follow him.

"Let us talk privately." Ireland turned to walk up the stairs. America followed suit and silently thanked the rugged nation who still gave Ireland a weary gaze. When the two were out of ear shot he sighed.

"What did you do now?"

The two bumbled up the stairs and reached a room at the end of the hall. Ireland told America to take a seat and locked the door behind him. America sat down on a wooden chair across from a mahogany desk. Ireland sat down on the desk and dumped the contents of his pipe into the trash bin next to it. He coughed before speaking again. "Why are you here?" His wording was downright cold and made America's heart drop.

"Well," America began silently. "Why did you leave?" Ireland cackled.

"Lad, did you expect me to just mooch off of you forever?" The red head then slid off his desk and pulled out a drawer. He filled his pipe with more tobacco and lit it. America breathed slowly. He had known Ireland long enough to experience the frustration of him turning your words around. The nation spoke in riddles he would only know the answer too, and would cleverly spin a web of rhetorical questions that would avoid the answer to the original question. It was aggravating and confusing.

"You know what I mean Shamus." The hurt was evident in the young nation's eyes. Ireland guiltily broke eye contact and stared at the floor. Silence filled the room and America realized he had to be outright with Ireland. "I'm confused," He whispered. "You, you opened a whole new world up to me! I've never felt so comfortable in my own skin around you! I mean-"

"Enough of that." Ireland cruelly cut off America. His eyes that usually held this mischievous charm to them were cold and stern. He pulled out his chair from his desk and plopped into it. His head rested in his hands and he glared at his own reflection in his desk. "Goddammit," He silently muttered. It took America a minute to comprehend what Ireland's reaction meant.

"Are you ashamed?" America pressed. Ireland reluctantly gazed up at the American.

"I'm no faggot." He harshly murmured. America sat back for a moment. His face contorted in a scowl.

"Then why?"

"Why what?" Ireland twiddled his pipe in his fingers.

"Why kiss me? Hold me? Treat me like I was something more to you than an opportunity?" America held the tears that were inevitable to fall. Ireland shook his head.

"I was drunk," he scoffed. America sharply inhaled in a vain attempt to stop the sudden rush of hurt that was rising up in his body. He tightened his fist and banged it on Ireland's desk. Ireland jumped.

"That's bullshit!" America stood up and grabbed Ireland by the shirt. "Tell me the truth!"

Ireland's dark green eyes became piercing and he pushed America off. "I am not your's to control!" Ireland breathed heavy. "Leave America," He hissed. "Go back to your precious England." America jumped up and tackled Ireland across his desk. He socked Ireland right in the face and Ireland flipped him over. He then banged America's head on the desk. "Fuck you!"

"Fuck you too!" The two continued to beat each other up until suddenly Ireland found he had America pinned. The two were panting and bloody at this point. Ireland grinned.

"Now," He began in-between breaths. "Can we calm ourselves?" America stared up at the red headed nation sadly. Ireland bit his lip. "America," He mused. Slowly but surely the island leaned in for a kiss that was gladly returned. Both could taste the iron metallic taste of the other's blood and the salty tears on America's face. America didn't want that kiss to end but sure enough Ireland pulled away and got off of the young nation. He dragged his feet to the door and stood there. "I think it is best for you to go." The Irishmen appeared aloof if not a tad somber.

America sat up and shook his head. He didn't even make eye contact with the Irishmen as he brushed past him. The young nation avoided Scotland's curious eyes as they roamed over the two outside the door. He shook his head at Ireland but knew not to question him until America left.

America ended up stopping at England's after the whole ordeal. He wasn't originally planning too but the child in him needed to see the Brit's face. England opened the door to a sniffling and confused America. Without any question England grabbed him by the hand and gently sat him down on the chair. He then handed the American some tissues and offered him something to drink. America sluggishly shook his head.

He ended up telling his former care taker everything. He blubbered on and on about how he felt used and wasn't sure if he was gay or not. England didn't say a word while the man spilled out all of his recently collected secrets like a three year old. He bit his lip and clenched his fist at the thought of America being treated like an object of lust. The Englishmen however knew better than to get upset when America was already red eyed himself. He consoled his former colony and offered the sad truth he had to learn when he was America's age.

"America," He spoke delicately. America's ears perked up as he observed the placid expression England managed to tack on. "It doesn't matter if you are gay. It doesn't matter if you are lonely. The unfortunate truth is that we're meant to be alone. Always alone." England didn't mean for it to sound as harsh as it did, but he was not one for smoothing things over. He watched America's face drop and breath come to a slow.

America swallowed thickly. "Then why do we have emotions?"

"I don't have the slightest idea. I wish we didn't."

And just like that, America snapped out of his crying fit. He rubbed his eyes and blew his nose. Smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt and stood up. "Thank you," He whispered. England patted him on the back and walked him to the door. He shut it behind him sullenly.

In a bittersweet rage, America turned a blind eye to all immigrants alike. He no longer cared about how cruel his people were or didn't acknowledge the new comers suffering. They were users, all of them, and he couldn't take the hurt anymore. From that moment, America swore himself to a life of loneliness. And out of that loneliness his drinking increased. It took years for both habits to wane away.

…

America shook his head from the flurry of memories he now only felt a mere numbness towards and picked up his phone. He huffed and lazily texted the Irishmen back, ultimately deciding he had no need to bring up the ugly past.

_Yeah. It was yucky. And now I feel sick. THANKS._

America mindlessly tossed his phone on his bed. He grumbled to himself as he headed back to his den. His bed was far too empty for him to wallow in it all morning. He dragged his feet back to the den and felt the wall around him being far too lazy to switch any lights on. The American then slid back onto his leather couch and cuddled next to the really big warm pillow next to him. It was when America shut his eyes something occurred to him.

Wait…Where did this pillow come from? Curiously, he began to feel this pillow, noticing it had arms and a chest..and a scarf?

America couldn't contain his scream.

**Author's note is a separate chapter.**


	5. Author's Note

_Hello, _

_I had made this a separate word document for I feel it is all too wordy to keep on one. First off I would like to confess I have a great disdain towards OC's. I avoid stories with them and stopped writing stories with them years ago. No offense to anyone who does this, we all have preferences on fanfictions._

_Despite such, I really wanted Ireland in the story. I initially had it in my head that there was an Ireland in Hetalia. But through massive sifting on various google pages, I came to the conclusion: _

_No. Not really?_

_Why? I'm not sure. There was but a loose idea that Ireland was supposed to be a cry baby girl…I was going to work with this non-descriptive outline until I decided I wanted Ireland to be two things: A boy, and not a little bitch. When I think of the Irish, I never think of people who are cry babies. That may just be my perspective though because I am Italian-Irish…And Italy is already a wimp you know?_

_I looked up a lot different forms of people's Irelands and made mine based on how I understand its history. I was surprised that people pair the country up with England when I can tell you all there is a lot of…negative feelings there…I'm not from the country though so perhaps I am wrong. This Ireland is the republic, North Ireland would be his brother. I threw Scotland in there because I based Ireland coming to America on the time the English granted Scotland the right to move on their territory. I also view Scotland as that brother who looks out for Ireland but doesn't approve of his behavior. _

_Also, I hope nobody is offended by Ireland being a drinker. And to remind you that Hetalia is all about stereotypes…I still apologize. _

_This story is in fact called Kissing Russia, so it does focus on the AmericaxRussia pairing. Why did I choose Ireland to be a past partner? Is that a good way to phrase it? I think one thing that greatly influenced this country is immigrants. I also wanted to change it up and not make it England. I'm not too fond of the EnglandxAmerica pairing, I will read some of the stories, but I dunno if I would ever write one. _

_ANYWAY, I just want to let you guys know that this character may or may not appear in the story depending if it coordinates with what I am writing…I do not feel comfortable shoving him in all of your faces after writing this monster chapter..Which I think came out terrible but I can't take a year to write it. _

_Please do not give me too much shit…I am experimenting…Sorry for the awkward transitions. Can't wait to see Russia's reaction to America's screaming! R&R!_


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